A Darkened Heart
by DmCrebel25
Summary: The Third Nilfgaard war has ended. As the world tries to put the pieces back together a young man returns from the war to find his life shattered. With no pieces left to do the same, he struggles to find purpose. Haunted by the phantoms of his prior life.
1. Aleksander

Aleksander lightly ran his fingers over the dips and sweeps carved on the headstones. The smooth granite cost a small fortune compared to a slab of wood, but he would spare no expense for his girls. No matter the circumstances. _Christina_. _Maria._ His jaw clenched hard; he wasn't a man of words.

They deserved better, some poetic excerpt that could truly capture them in memorial. But all Aleksander had ever been good at was fighting and they'd deserved so much more than a sellsword. Opting for bounty hunting to spend more time with Maria didn't change a damn thing. Her tears still soaked his brigandine whenever he left. Begging him to stay, and every time he'd promise to come home.

Bring her a new toy, better than the last.

When he fell back into fighting other people's battles for them though he couldn't make that promise. He'd watched too many die on the field to lie like that. The way she wailed when she first realized that he couldn't make her that promise again. After that day she just squeezed him as hard as her little arms could muster as the tears soaked him worse than before.

And every time it felt more and more like he was failing as a father. Christina tried to assure him that he was a wonderful father, that he could be so much worse. Maria tried too, always so smart. But no good father would let his family be killed, no matter who his enemies were.

Aleksander felt his eyes begin to water; he'd failed so much worse than any drunken oaf. Than any whoremongering scumbag. Leaving for good would have done them better. The painful constriction in his chest made his breaths ragged. He'd give his life a thousand times if it brought them back. Damn himself to the deepest pits if he could see them smile at him one more time.

Hear Maria giggle again, telling him all about the latest story she read. Feel Christina's lips on his again, or run his hands through her soft chestnut hair. Look into those light green eyes. He remembered how happy he'd been to see Maria had her mother's eyes. Now both pairs haunted his dreams most nights. Seeing them plead with him, brimming with tears. Begging him to stay, not to go.

"You always wanted me to stay. Every time…" He sucked in a shaky breath, "And I should have. If I had stayed you would still be here."

The horrors flashed before him again, as if seeing them every time he closed his eyes wasn't enough. That he should suffer more. What he'd walked into that day was worse than any nightmare that any man, beast, or god could dream up. It was worse than dying, dying was easy, he knew how to die. But how to live without his family?

He didn't care about living, the only thing that was real anymore was the pain…

Aleksander ground his teeth as he rose back to his feet. And seeking vengeance. Seeking to spread that pain. Making every one of the sick bastards who had a hand in it pay tenfold was what he'd live for now. He would kill them all. Every. Single. One of them.

Looking back down to the fresh graves he felt the tears threaten to spill. "I can never tell you how much I loved you. How much you meant to me," he hesitated, choking down the knot in his throat. "Too much like saying goodbye, and I can't let you go. I know that I won't be able to follow you wherever you've gone."

The steel and fire found its way back to his voice, "But I'll make sure it's crowded wherever I end up."

The sounds of Tempest snorting from behind him punctuated the vow. It was with that Aleksander headed back to him. The massive war horse was loaded with his greatsword and bow, the saddlebags with supplies. He didn't expect to return, not for a long time, maybe never again. Strapping on his gauntlets he mounted. Taking a deep breath, he urged Tempest on.

Leaving what had once been his sanctuary had always been hard. No matter how many times he did it, that feeling to stay gnawed at him. He had to fight it, force it down. But this time he couldn't get away fast enough.

Sanctuary had turned to hellscape.

His next stop would be in the nearby village of Cyran, the closest to his secluded home. It was only a few miles outside the capital of Cintra. He thought it would be the right place to settle. They were independent of the Empire. Even if the black ones were the real ones running the place. Which meant they'd be free of war should they go for the North again.

Which they did, and from what Aleksander had seen during the war he felt justified. But apparently it didn't really matter in the end. _He_ had been the greatest danger to his family, not the Empire or Rulers of the North. Leaving for work in this war was the greatest mistake he'd ever made.

Shutting his eyes, he set those thoughts aside. There was a new job to do. He could live in the nightmare plenty when he was done. So, he merely focused on the path ahead. Feeling Tempest's muscles flex as he trotted along gave Aleksander something to concentrate on. The rhythm of it keeping him on the path, keeping him focused.

The village was of the larger variety. They weren't starving and failing to provide like many he'd come across in what was left of Temeria or Kaedwen. Lucky for them war hadn't bled the life from them since the black ones first arrived in Cintra.

Tempest caused a crowd of villagers to part as he trotted passed their homes. Aleksander expected the men he was hunting had stopped at the inn. If for no other reason than to ask what direction he usually went when he'd leave. They'd be able to find the house eventually with that. His fists clenched around the reins, and his teeth grit.

He gave a tug, bringing Tempest to a stop at the trough outside of the two-story structure. Aleksander had made stops in Cyran before. Whether for supplies for his family or on his way home for a quick break so as not to arrive exhausted. Maria always wanted to sit in his lap for a few hours asking about where he'd been. Sometimes she'd fall asleep there from how long she'd have him regaling her with his travels.

As Tempest began to drink Aleksander breathed and let the memories fade. He gave his companion a pat on the neck before heading for the door. The sounds of merriment reached his ears as he shoved the well-worn wood in.

They quickly quieted at the sight of him stepping over the threshold. The grinding of his armor filling in the silence it had helped create. He'd always had a knack for quieting a room, his tall, broad frame clad in steel and leather. Face grim and hard, that was how Christina described it anyway.

Aleksander headed to the bar where the portly innkeep paled when their eyes met.

"Who?" was all he uttered.

"We uh, heard what happened. The whole village-"

Aleksander's hand clamped down around the man's throat, his double chin bunching around his jaw. It made his bulging eyes from a lack of oxygen more severe.

"You told them, you fat piece of shit. You told them where they were…" he growled.

"I- I didn't, I just gave them directions!"

Aleksander squeezed tighter, the innkeep beginning to turn the wrong color.

"How was I to know!?" he wheezed.

"How could you not?" He moved his grip to the side of the man's head and slammed it down on the bar. "Who were they, names, arms? What the fuck did they drink that day? I want to know everything."

The innkeeper grimaced, "N-no names, didn't say much."

Aleksander pressed more of his weight down, grinding the innkeeper's face into the rough wood of his bar. "Think harder."

"A kestrel!" he shouted; desperation heavy in his voice. Aleksander let up, "A red kestrel, it was painted on their shields!"

"On a gold field?"

"Yes!" his eyes hopeful, pleading.

He let go of the innkeeper. The Kaedweni Kestrels, red kestrel soaring over a golden field. They were a mercenary company from the Kestrel Mountains, hence the name. Fought in every conflict that oaf Henselt waged. Bandits and thugs just cleaner, with better arms and armor.

"I want descriptions of every one of them, in detail."

The innkeeper rubbed his neck and cleared his throat a few times, "Aye, whatever you want. Please believe me, if I'd known what they planned-"

Aleksander leaned on the bar, glowering down at the shorter man.

He paled, "Descriptions, right. Well, there was one with his head shaved and a right nasty scar from the nape of his neck to his left eye. From the claws of some beast I'm sure. Not tall or short, but real thick with muscle. Another was shorter, skinny thing, tattoo of a blade on his neck. Not sure what he'd be able to do in a war but I'm no soldier."

"He's probably a scout. Keep going, was he blonde, dark haired, blue eyes?"

"Dark hair and eyes, two rings hangin' from both his ears. Loud mouthed little cunt, were it not for his friends I'd have thrown him out. As for the others they stayed at their table. Two were blonde, taller. Looked real similar, could mix them up easy. Brothers I'm guessin'.

"Another was quiet, never saw his lips move. Didn't drink much either. He wasn't big or small, had brown hair and I never got a look at his eyes."

Aleksander leaned in further, "Average size with brown hair, you just described most of the population. I'll need more than that."

He began to fidget under the hard look, "I'm sorry, but he never came up here. He seemed distant from the others. Maybe they didn't get along well."

"Who else?"

"Just the leader, paid for the drinks and- asked where you lived. He said you served in the same company together. That he had a contract offer for you-"

"I want descriptions, not the rundown of how you got my family killed," Aleksander growled.

"The tallest one, though probably still a bit shorter than yourself. On the leaner side, reddish-brown hair I think, with green eyes. Charmin' sort, handsome and he knows it. Flirted with some of the younger girls from the village. I'm glad he never touched 'em now, knowin' what kinda man he and the others were," the innkeeper described.

The details were unmistakable, "Ser Frederick."

"Ser? He's a knight?"

"Maybe, he claimed he was but he never told anyone where he was from. Never heard a family name either."

"That's everything I know, I promise," he swore.

Aleksander pushed away from the bar; the man had given them the information they needed to find his family. Maybe if he had kept his mouth shut, they'd still be alive? His fists clenched with the quiet grind of the plates.

One was moving before he realized what was happening. The _crack_ as it connected with the innkeeper's jaw echoed around the establishment. A soft pattering could be heard on the floor behind the bar. Two teeth with trailing streaks of blood. The fat man plopped to the ground unmoving. Knocked out cold.

"I should knock out the rest of your teeth," Aleksander contemplated aloud.

Instead he stalked back over to the door and left. Six targets, six bastards that took everything from him. Six bodies that didn't know they were dead yet…


	2. Dirk

Wet, wheezing breaths filled the dark room, rattling out of a broken body. The lone candle on the table the only light in that darkness. It caused a gleam on the bloodied blades and tools arranged beside it. The small flame danced and fluttered, brief and easy to snuff.

Just like life itself.

The life before him would be no different. The small man wasn't quite as mouthy now. His six missing teeth had something to do with that as well as his missing nails. Couldn't break his jaw despite the desire, there _were_ still things to ask him.

The former scout lifted his head as his panicked eyes searched the void. The dark ink on his neck in the form of a blade was marred by thick crimson trails. Those trails came from his ears where the piercings had been torn out. They were only matched by the paths the tears created from his eyes.

He'd been weeping for a day and a half so far. Two would be enough, considering how pathetic he'd become. The salt in his wounds not allowing him to get any sleep when he was alone.

Not that Aleksander had left him alone for long of course. No, he wouldn't let him have that mercy. The piece of shit before him didn't have mercy on his family.

"Please, _please_, just kill me," Dirk begged. Not his real name of course, but he thought it would make him intimidating matched with the tattoo on his neck. Aleksander drove his steel-clad fist into the man's already bloody groin. He crushed it with a large stone the moment he had him.

Dirk whimpered and whined between trying to void his stomach again. There was nothing left to come up though as he dry heaved. Aleksander slowly twisted one of his already crooked fingers around. The way he screamed made him wonder how Christina and Maria may have screamed.

He snapped the extremity back against his hand worse than before. Again, Dirk shrieked as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. How did he take the mother of his child's dignity? The possibilities played out in his mind as he squeezed his eyes shut. Did he pin her down or did he have the others do it for him?

Aleksander smashed his fist into Dirk's manhood with even more ferocity. Then moved to his already broken ribs, trying to pound them to dust. The rope around them he yanked in opposite directions to constrict, forcing out a silent scream. In that short moment of silence, the sound of blood rushing through his ears was all Aleksander could hear as the rage thundered on.

He hauled the chair Dirk was bound to closer to the candle. Wrenching his head up by the hair so he could finally see his dimly lit face.

"Look at me," Aleksander demanded. Dirk of course complied without hesitation, his eyes finally showing recognition.

"Aleksander!? No, no, please, plea-"

He seized his throat and squeezed, "Stop wasting what little air you have left on begging. Answer my questions, and I'll end your life quickly. Refuse? And I'll drag this on for weeks."

Once released Dirk gasped for air in the foul-smelling room. "Anything, I'll tell you anything. Just make it stop…"

"The others that were there, where are they?" Aleksander growled.

"I don't know where they all are. But I know where Gilbert, and the twins, Leonard and Leifur are."

"Then where are _they_?"

Dirk hesitated a moment, whatever encouragement the pain had given him it faltered at betrayal. Wouldn't falter for long.

Aleksander grabbed the crimson stained pincers on the table and forced them into his mouth. It took him a moment to get a grip on a suitable tooth as Dirk thrashed and struggled. When Aleksander slowly dug his plate clad thumb into an eye he went still. Again, the man tried to beg around the tool in his mouth.

He began to pull and Dirk began to scream. His families' piercing through instead. How long and loudly did _they_ beg? Aleksander could feel as the tooth began to uproot. He pulled harder. More blood gushed up and filled Dirk's mouth. Choking on it he couldn't scream as the tooth tore free entirely and Aleksander stepped back. Turning it over he looked at the gold capped status symbol. A man of bluster and hot air, that's who Dirk was.

And a raving coward.

He spit out mouthfuls of blood as he mumbled gibberish through his tears. Aleksander grabbed a handful of greasy hair and yanked his head up to face him.

"You can either use your breath for answering… or screaming."

Dirk's eyes were wild, "The company split with the end of the war. That was our last contract together. I don't know who put it out. Gilbert went to Temeria, in the swamps of Velen, the twins back to Skellige, but they never talked much to me."

"I get the feeling nobody talked to you much," Aleksander commented before releasing him with a shove.

"Please, just end it, that's all I know!"

"One more question." Aleksander crouched in front of Dirk, "Which one of you slit my daughter's throat?"

"Fredrick! He was the only one who could stomach it. Your wife was one thing, but killing a little girl? We couldn't do it."

"Couldn't slaughter a defenseless child, but you could rape my wife before you strangled her? Fucking angels."

"I didn't kill your wife either! I'm sorry, is that-"

Aleksander violently upended the chair Dirk was tied to. The dull thud of his head rebounding off the floor only added fuel to the fire. Aleksander stomped down on it, crushing his already broken nose and knocking him out cold. He wanted to rage at him, scream every word he knew. But what good would it do?

Wouldn't take away the pain, the sleepless nights. And neither would an apology.

Grabbing the pail of water, Aleksander slowly poured it on Dirk's face. Making them feel his pain was all he really had anymore. It took a moment before Dirk came to and started choking. Sadly, the pail ran dry soon after.

"I-I told you what I know!" Dirk shouted between coughing and spitting up watery blood. "You said you'd en-end it. Just do it already."

Aleksander grabbed one of the tools from the table. "I lied."

* * *

When the candle finally burned out, Dirk's life went with it in the small hours of the next morning. Aleksander sat in the oppressive darkness, the bodies of his family in his mind's eye. They were never far from his thoughts or nightmares. A heartbreaking burden that he had to bear until he took his final breath.

Perhaps he deserved this? Fighting wars for coin, all the killing. Maybe this was the harvest for what he'd sown? It was all he'd known, but could that truly be a defense? In the beginning that may have held, but he could have walked away from the life. Try to pick up a trade, a blacksmith's apprentice, a stable hand, stonemason, something simple and honest. A good husband for Christina, a role model for Maria.

He failed at both for his family, the latter more spectacularly. No, he chose this life, and all that entailed though not happily. Once after returning home and regaling her with his time away, as was their little ritual, Maria exclaimed she wanted to be a mercenary. To go on grand adventures and be like him. Aleksander had never shouted at her before, but he did then.

He took her by the shoulders and forced her to promise him she would never be like him. To never even think about living that life. Tears poured down her face and she sobbed asking what she did wrong. He snatched her by the scruff of her neck when she tried to run away. Didn't let her go until he dragged the words out of her.

"_I promise, daddy, I'll never ever be like you!_"

In the aftermath, Christina gave him a tongue lashing that stung for weeks. He knew he'd overreacted, was cruel even, but the image of _his_ little girl broken and bleeding amongst the corpses was too much. And yet he now saw it every night when he slept, only not on a battlefield but the floor of their own home.

He should have stayed gone after Brenna. He'd contemplated it for three years after Christina first told him she was pregnant. Stay away, for everyone's sake. Of course, he couldn't bring himself to just never return to her. When Nilfgaard attacked the second time it seemed like a sign.

Another dead man in the war, she'd probably tell Maria that he was a soldier who died to protect them. A far better story than the mercenary who did it for coin. They'd still be alive and could live a full, good life. Ser Reinhardt, Christina's father would have made sure of that.

Aleksander would have to tell him what happened eventually. That after sullying his daughter, ruining her chances of a good match, he'd gotten her killed too. Giving his daughter's hand in marriage even after their liaison had been generous. Most would have had Aleksander executed no doubt. Delivering that news may cause him to call for it this time.

A fight he had no interest in thinking about, not now.

The smell of the room hit Aleksander then. Bringing him back to the present, it would be so much easier to live in the memories. It reeked like a slaughterhouse and an outhouse stewed together. Relighting the candle, he searched for the bottle of vodka he'd found in the abandoned house.

It wasn't meant for drinking though. Spilling it around Dirk's mangled corpse Aleksander made sure to spread it to anything that could hold a flame. When it ran dry, he simply cast it aside and began to gather his things. He didn't leave without dropping the candle in the liquor. Nobody would want to use that home again. Not after what he'd done.

Mounting Tempest, he listened as the fire began to pop and crackle, gaining strength behind him. The heat on his back a fierce contrast to the bitter cold of the winter wind chilling his face. One down, five to go. Closest would be Gilbert, perhaps he'd know where to find the other two. The Skelligers he likely wouldn't have the chance to press for answers, twins were difficult to separate. With a light prodding Tempest moved on.

It was too bad Dirk was such an unlikeable cunt, he may have known more about the others then. He suspected they wouldn't be as easy to get his hands on. Dirk had been a piss poor fighter, as a scout he was only marginally better. The rest of the Kestrels liked to fight, they were certainly no match for Adieu's Free Company, but they could draw blood.

The times they ran into each other on the Kaedweni front nearly came to blows. Aleksander, like the others, didn't hide his disdain for the undisciplined, unprofessional rabble. They weren't the only ones to garner that reaction. Not every Free Company had such a reputation as Adieu's. Coming out on the victor's side at the Battle of Brenna was hard to match.

Radovid using the Kestrels as "shock" troops was a stroke of genius. Little more than human shields, distractions for the rest of them. It was only too bad they didn't all perish against the Black Ones. It was all they were good for, no cohesion to fight together or with anyone else. He remembered many spitting at them as they passed.

Was Dirk lying about it being a contract? They were angry at him and the others for calling them names so they murdered his family? He could see it with most of them, but Fredrick was too levelheaded. Most thought he was a psychopath considering how unfazed he was by everything.

Aleksander set those thoughts aside. He had three more men he might get the answer out of. If it was a contract than there was another. Somebody else to find, that was the one he wanted to talk to. To hear why. It wouldn't bring them back, wouldn't make him feel any better, but he needed to know.

Closure, maybe? If it turned out that they acted alone then wiping that fucking smirk off Fredrick's face would be enough. Velen, Skellige, then where? Aleksander had work to do.

* * *

**Author's Note: Shouldn't be a surprise at this rate with me, but there's been a change of plans. This story will be a Short Story, a standalone prologue if you will, to the main plot. It seemed prudent to give this one to Aleksander alone, rather than trying to shoehorn Ciri in and the rest of the plot that really won't become relevant until after this.**

**So, when this revenge plot is over we'll mark Darkened Heart complete and **_**then**_** we'll start the main plot in a separate story. So, six chapters is what this will be, one for each man involved. Though don't worry it won't just be them getting their comeuppance, after all Aleksander has to find them and there's many characters he may meet along the way.**


End file.
